


Speaking Volumes

by cathouse_mary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-28
Updated: 2006-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awkward old bastard courts awkward young bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking Volumes

**Author's Note:**

> With much thanks to [](http://blackletter.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackletter**](http://blackletter.livejournal.com/) for the prompt and excellent beta on such short notice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:**   
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accomplished  
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**Entry tags:**   
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[ficathon](http://community.livejournal.com/kinda_lush/tag/ficathon), [snape/filch](http://community.livejournal.com/kinda_lush/tag/snape%2Ffilch)  
  
  
_**FIC: Speaking Volumes (Snape/Filch, NC-17)**_  
Title: Speaking Volumes  
Author: [](http://chaos-rose.livejournal.com/profile)[**chaos_rose**](http://chaos-rose.livejournal.com/)  
Pairing: Snape/Filch  
Prompt: Books  
Rating: NC-17 or Adults Only for sexual situations and language.  
Categories: Slash. Pre-slash. Perving. Masturbation. Oral sex. Hand jobs. Buggery. Patronage of prostitutes. No chan.  
Summary: Awkward old bastard courts awkward young bastard.  
Notes: With much thanks to [](http://blackletter.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackletter**](http://blackletter.livejournal.com/) for the prompt and excellent beta on such short notice.

~

Of all the things Argus watched, he watched the boy's hands.

Pale and long-fingered, almost feminine, Severus Snape's hands were a most pleasant part of a rather unpleasant boy.

Of course, all the filthy little savages were unpleasant. They took delight in mucking up his castle, damaged valuable paintings and artefacts with their antics. They stole, and lied, and played pranks that caused mess and bloodshed and that poncy, purple-stockinged old coot who had the gall to call himself a headmaster did nothing but pat the little bastards on the head and give them sodding sherbet lemons-!

Breathe, Argus.

But this Snape - his mum was one of the Prince clan who 'married out' as some will do when the line is failing - was a different sort. Quieter. More watchful.

That caused Argus to watch him even more closely, as one could never tell what that type might do. For years Argus watched him. A snotty-nosed first year, and a strutting second year somehow earning the enmity of Potter, Black and their gang of all-mouth-no-trousers Quidditch thugs, for whom a strapping once a day on general principles might not be excessive. Snape grew taller and meaner as Life did what it does always done unfairly, always with calculated cruelty, and with Fate (that cow) sticking not only her finger but her entire misbegotten fist right up the boy's arse.

Oh, didn't Argus knew that feeling well; he'd been walking sideways from Fate's buggering since he was eight, himself.

It annoyed him that this made him feel kindly to the boy. Certainly knowing that Argus felt kindly would annoy the boy, too. So aside from making the boy's frequent detentions less onerous than those of his peers, Argus did nothing. It was an arrangement that suited them both, and they did their work in quiet. Snape never complained or pulled stupid capers. In some way seemed relieved to be in Argus' company, which Argus thought bizarre.

It was not until the boy's fifth year that Argus noticed. The boy had an arse you could bounce a knut off, and exuded the hormonal musk of a male tom but gave off that indefinable something. That something that drew a man's eyes to that arse, made a man of a certain type want to pull up that robe and yank down those linen braies and

Not with the students, you old sodomite.

Oh, he had his own proclivities as any man might, to be sure, but schoolboys were not one of them. He universally hated the little wand-waving, toffee-nosed whelps. Argus preferred his buggery neat, hard, professional, and not costing over three sickles unless he was getting a good suck beforehand in which case he'd pay three-and-a-half.

It was while getting a good suck that he looked down at the greasy-haired Carne Alley whore doing his earnest best and had the unaccountable image of young Snape in the whore's place.

Furious renegotiation ensued after Argus shot approximately forty-five minutes earlier than he'd paid for.

It occasioned much thought in the week after, and a closer watching of young Snape during that week's detention given for having dyed all of Gryffindor an indelible, virulent green. They worked in the quiet of the library, repairing books and grimoires treated with ill care. Through it all, Argus watched those hands move delicately over torn bindings, a finger tracing a rip in a fragile onionskin page, carefully applying glue to ornate endpapers and flyleaves.

And what would those hands do, how would they feel if they happened to be wrapped around Argus' cock?

This was the question that had Argus Quercus Filch, a man with forty-five years of hard living under his belt, beating his bishop in the broom closet as if he were a randy nineteen-year-old. He actually took to keeping a bottle of sweet oil in his pocket when the damned thing chapped from over-abuse. In each case, behind Argus' closed eyes, there was Snape on his knees, bent over a desk, pressed against the grey stone of a dusty corridor with braies around his ankles and doing his eager best to take every aching inch and drop of what Argus wanted to give him.

There was just one small problem.

He doubted that Severus Snape, as peas-porridge poor as he was, would consent to a suck-and-fuck for three-and-half.

If Argus wanted him, and he surely did, he supposed that he would have to woo him, like.

He'd sooner woo a hissing adder, but the prospect of seeing if he _could_ bounce a knut off Snape's arse was a powerful incentive.

It took a good bit of thought usually over stroking one out to figure out how exactly to proceed upon a course of action; for Argus knew next to nothing about seduction. Hearts and flowers would likely get him hexed, and he knew that after the boy'd been used and cast off as Lucius Malfoy's school days fag that there was precious little belief in romance. The only thing the boy seemed to hold in regard were potions and books.

Books.

~

"C'n I help ye, sor?"

"I need a book."

"Well, ye've come t' th' rait place."

"Belt up, you're lettin' all the air out of your head. How much for this one?"

"Nine sickles."

"I was born at night, but not last bleeding night. Five and a quarter"

~

Argus placed the book just so on Snape's pillow. The cover of _Select Greek Stories_ showed a young man being borne aloft by an eagle, and from the expression on the Greek lad's face it was a good guess that he was having a fine ride in more ways than one. The colour plates were fine, too. Argus had made certain of that. The one with that old heathen Poseidon and Pelops was right inspiring when it went into motion.

~

Over the coming weeks, the dance played out. Argus budgeted for a book every two weeks, purchasing from select shops on Carne Alley.

 _An Illustrated Guide to the Persian Poets._

 _Diverting Dialogues._

 _The Schoolboyish Alcibiades._

 _A Young Man's Guide to Catullus and Martial._

 _Satyricon and Attendant Works by Various Admirers._

It was best, he thought, to train a boy up with the classics, and Snape appeared to enjoy them greatly. More, he seemed to enjoy the mystery of the mysterious giver. Sly as the boy was, Argus knew he would not remain a mystery for long though he thought that Snape might draw it out to keep the flow of books coming.

And it turned out that he was bang on right about that.

The beaky little bastard.

Therefore, Argus kept the next book back. It was one he hadn't read in about twenty years but the colour plates were just as revitalizing as he remembered. Some of the positions would be hell on his back and his knees would curse him for a week, but just setting them in motion put a ferocious tent in his bedding. He paged through, giving himself a squeeze and stroke from time to time, and finally found one of his favourite pictures a pert-bottomed lad being kept busy at both ends, his enjoyment evident in the stiffness of his rosy-headed prick.

"Hello, you naughty lads," he rumbled, kicking down his quilts and opening the front of his flannels, "I'm coming out to play"

Taking himself in hand, Argus set his rhythm to that of the busy lads in the picture.

"That's it, fuck his tight little arse ahh he wants it"

It wasn't as if they needed his encouragement buggering the pert-bottomed lad in every possible position, even to double dipping his hungry little arsehole and filling his mouth with shot after shot of-

"Isn't that _my_ book?"

Argus' heart nearly stopped at the petulant voice coming from the dark of his sitting room.

"God DAMN, boy!" he barked. "What're you trying to do kill me?"

"No, because then I wouldn't get any more interesting books." A pale blur in the glow from the dying fire moved closer, resolving itself into Snape, bony knees and all. Ink-black eyes lingered on his works in a way that made Argus flush.

"Do you mind?" he growled. Not that he moved to put himself away; he might have been short-changed in magic, but he'd been graced in others and wasn't shy about it.

Snape, the shameless brat, simply licked his lips. "Not at all. It must be a very good book." He stepped delicately into the room, coming around the footboard to show his nightshirt with a well-sized disturbance underneath. "If you're not going to give it to me, at least share." Snape climbed onto his bed as if he owned it, peeling off his nightshirt and shoving the covers over.

"Said the tart to the bishop, you hellion. I'll give it to you until you're walking sideways."

Snape only smirked, wet his lips, and then had his mouth too full to say anything at all.

-The End-


End file.
